Chapter Three

     Linus started awake. A new phantom tripped up his mind, sending the boy to jolt into a sitting position, gasping into the dark with violent and riveting sobs. He attempted to muffle with an open palm, but that did little to shoo away the dream that sat placidly on his mind.

     He had been standing in front of his childhood home, except everything was different. Ash fell from the sky like cotton rain, drenching the yet-to-be-destroyed metal structure. With a closer eye, Linus realised what was wrong. His home had been destroyed, standing before him was what had been built upon the wreckage. The path up to the door was paved with a strange kind of rock, and the yard wasn't filled with grey fibers imitating dirt, but was now green and alive. Ash fluttered down piece by piece, slowly but surely stifling the growth and vibrancy of the new, unsettling garden.

     The blackness did little-to-nothing to snuff out the whiteness of the front door. If anything, it drew it into a much higher contrast, giving it a blinding power over the young pirate. Linus wasn't comfortable with the door's color. His home's had been grey -– identical to every other one on the block, to the fake dirt, to the street, to the walls and windows -- but in his absence someone had decided to change it. The nerve.

     He took a curious step forward, urged to learn how the contents of this home was different from his family's. Who had moved in? Had they kept the little bit of kitchen that had survived? What now stood where his bedroom had been? Did they have a crack in the corner of their backdoor like he'd had? 

      With another step a tremor of trepidation joined his thoughts. Would they be mad at him for barging in? Should he knock? Did they realise that they laughed and ate and conversed and shared joyous moments in the final resting place of his parents –- whose bodies had gone through such a temperature they no longer existed? 

     With a third step he was pushed into speed. His thoughts gave no further care to what the residents did or thought. He was becoming strangled by the thought that he needed something from behind that door –- that something needed him.

     A sudden cry from behind held the weight of a thousand chains, cascading into Linus and relentlessly keeping him dormant. He was close, the door now at arm's length, but his limbs were captive. 

     He needed to close the few inches -- feet -- centimeters -- miles -- 

     "Stop!" The cry sounded again. This time Linus recognised the voice. 

     Martin.

     The chains let up for a moment and Linus took it as opportunity to turn around, his heart forgetting the ominous door as each move sent clatterings and clinks of invisible metals to clutter among the world's buzzings. Martin stood at the end of the paved path. It looked so much further away than it had before, stretching on and on forever. The falling ash attempted to swallow Martin whole, beginning at his feet and ribboning up and around his abdomen. His face had aged, prudent bags beneath sunken eyes.

     "Linus—" he choked past dry tears. "Linus you can't – I can't –" The ash was surprising in haste, slithering around the old man in a hurricane of shadow to grow forward and slip past parted, pleading lips. Martin's hands rose, clawing so vigorously at his throat that skin began to bed itself under his nails. He tried to heave, to cough, to anything!, but none of his advances seemed to work and his knees lost their leverage and dropped him.

     Linus pushed forward but the chains felt they'd been more than generous in his last trip. He was left with only the ability to watch as Martin's eyes crew wider and wider, threatening to pop, before the old man stilled and the ash beneath him seemed to open and fully devour him.

     "Da – Martin --!" Linus had screamed, tugging and wriggling in the invisible chains until every bone in his body was cracked and broken and useless. He fell with wretched sobs, his lips unable to stay parted or closed, his chin quivering so violently it hurt. Snot flowed from his nose and mixed with the tears messily as he tipped his head to the sky. He was unable to blur anything out, he was too hurt – to broken – too numb – too gone – but when he found himself focused on the grandiose ship that hovered in the air he stiffened. From its side sprinkled the ash, a passionate flame smothering the masts and rippling, mocking flags. A new emotion added to the pressure of the chains. It put his former, impetuous vengeance to shame. This was pure and unquestionable hate. It itself was a fire, sending Linus's new tears to scorch his cheeks.

     He stammered into a loose kneeling position. Standing, every sharp fragment of bone stabbed into his muscles. He refused to be rendered helpless. He would make them pay. For Martin, for his parents, for himself. He stabled his cries long enough to form a threat, pushing it past the falling ashflakes to the enemy as a warning. 

     A screeching scream responded, stealing away Linus's voice. The bottom of the air ship swept open, sending a block to scamper out freely. Falling.

     Linus had woken before the bomb had landed. The dread still stole away his breath, pressing down on his chest asphyxiatingly. He pressed a wet palm against his eyes in attempt to rid the horrid memory. He realised then that the tears were as real as his new-found vulnerability. He half expected to pull away ash stained fingers, the black forever feeding on his defenses until he was helpless, but even in his state he knew the only things he would see were tremoring cadaverous fingers. He didn't even bother to check as he laid back.

     He had skipped the breakfast that was offered to him; his stomach was too small and too nauseated to even consider the watered-down gravy and peppered mystery meat atop stale bread. He looked past everyone, looking for a single face in the crowd. He knew what he was to do, but he would never forgive himself if he didn't at least try to draw condolences with Martin.

     Linus successfully pinpointed the old man, hunched over a serving of food with a spoonful of wet bread disappearing past his lip. Better that than ash.

     The dining room was held below-deck, a large table stretching out in the centre with two vast benches on either side. There was a door on the far end that led to the kitchen. Every time someone opened it – be it to go in or out – a repulsing perfume of the day's first meal would saunter in to chat. Linus took a seat beside Martin in hopes to sooth his stomach. He drew a long breath, waiting for Martin to notice him. The other never looked up.

     "Hey, old man," Linus muttered at length, putting both of his arms on the table. He closed and opened his hands in attempts to calm the jitters he had worked up. He took a moment to look between his hands and Martin, waiting for the recognition of his words, but it never came. He fixed his eyes on his hands once more, now balled fists, and stationed himself in that position. Bile rushed to his throat. He bit it back, knowing that if he failed to continue the conversation soon he would send yesterday's meal over the edge "I just wanted to say that—" what? That he was going to ignore every genial act Martin had ever bestowed him? That he was ready and willing to die? That he'd probably kill himself if he didn't embark on this suicide mission? "—that I'll miss you."

     Martin tensed. Linus cringed at his own words, knowing how much disrespect Martin would take from each syllable. It wasn't that he'd ever cared about being disrespectful –- quite the contrary –- but this was different. Today was different. It was what could very likely be their last conversation.

     And Martin wasn't putting a word into it. Linus was beginning to worry he never would. The growing silence between them grew louder, denser. Linus tightened his fists in attempt to keep them from shaking; it didn't do much as placid skin thinned over the bone-nubs and the tremble was placed into his biceps. Martin had disowned him. Did he think such a thing would make Linus stay? Did he think that it would make the good-bye easier? Was this straw the final one in a vast bundle of imbecilic acts he could stand? Would he ever understand or forgive him? Or would he just go and find another kid to recruit -– to replace him and to be prouder in and to love and to father and --.

     Linus's thoughts, as well as his body, were enveloped without notice, Martin pulling him into a sweaty hug. His embrace was tight. Linus wanted to cry again, but allowed himself to stew in the much lighter silence. After a long while Martin sat back, leaving Linus to crave the spritz of fatherly affection.

     Martin no longer had to vocalise his disdain for the young man's decision; it wouldn't do any good. With a countenance settling into ease he just nodded, a stiffness about his quirking lips. Linus knew. This was his go-ahead, his lecture on idiocrasy, his clap on the back for luck – all of the advice and wisdom and guidance an old pirate could give. Linus looked away again to stimulate brimming emotions. "Thank you," he croaked. Martin pressed an open palm to his forearm.

     "Just remember that someone's waiting for you to return." He spoke with the dust of age, the chaos of the room around them trying to sweep his words away. Linus didn't miss a thing. "I won't be there to help you, can't get you out of the stupid situations you throw yourself into," his tone was almost humorous as he drawled on the last few words, no doubt pulling up some recollection of the boy's mishaps, but the lightness was gone as the gravity of the situation settled once more. "But don't think for one second that I won't be expecting. Expecting you to live, to return, and if you don't—" the whisper cut off. Linus felt the shift as Martin turned away. "That's not an option," he continued at length. "You'll fight, you'll live, and then you'll return. That's an order, boy." And Linus knew it was. The confidence that left the strain from Martin's final words filled Linus's breast with his own, and soon a new clarity cleared Linus's dancing doubts.

     Martin didn't continue after that. What needed to be said was in the air, waltzing about with the things the old man desperately wanted to shout. Linus allowed himself a deep breath before he responded, offering a promising smile to the man who turned back. "What other option could there be?" He asked, only half feigning the underlying boyish sarcasm. " I learned from the best, after all." Martin groaned and pulled him into another quick hug before pulling away and administering a quick painless slap upside his head.

     "Don't be getting cocky, boy," he scorned with a small smile. Linus laughed, feeling for the first time that he could actually make it.

     Someone's waiting for you to return. Yes, they were, and Linus didn't plan to keep them waiting any longer than necessary. It was his duty, after all; he was forever in debt.

     They had talked for a while longer, the both of them blissfully putting aside their knowing dread. Only when the captain appeared and called for everyone's unoccupied attention did it fall into their laps again, heavier than ever.

     "We're close," said he shortly, clasping his hands behind his back. He used his elevated position to look down on them, dark eyes swimming with untold warnings. "It's time for those willing to step forward to do-so."

     There was a long, bordering uncomfortable, silence as everyone held their breath. Today it was official; today anyone who stepped forward did so with a pledge on his lips and a precarious recklessness about his stride. A beat; a minute; no one, not even the captain, wanted to break the silence. It would mean breaking up the crew and sending the most loyal to die.

     Finally, there was movement. Vint stood from the far end of the table, swallowing the lump in his throat and looking –- but not seeing –- forward. "Aye."

     A wave of movement followed, pirates standing or taking steps forward, all of them echoing the kid's declaration. When Linus had moved to stand he was momentarily paused by Martin's grip on his arm, but with one last shared look Martin let him go and he stood with the same word protruding from his throat. Another round of silence threatened to befall them, but it was broken with a single sharp clap. Followed by another – then another and another. Soon the whole underdeck –- the whole world -– was drumming and hooting and stomping and clapping. Linus felt a level of apprehension being scrubbed down by the support. The captain's attempt at stoic features cracked with a small smile.

     "Follow me," he commanded as the applause died down a bit. He turned and stole up each step with the grace only a captain could. Those who offered themselves filed behind, nudges and claps and congratulations of no shortage. Linus squinted as he broke the surface of the deck, the overcast of the day high and blinding when compared to the wax candles of the underneath. There were only a few men originally above-deck but none of them moved to join the new line up.

     Linus looked past themselves and to the forming blob in the distance. So they were crossing waters into Amartha, then. Upito –- one of the last perfectly natural islands in existence –- took its leisure time as it came into view. Linus was almost sickened by the strange mixture of greens and browns and the odd smells wafting over lazily.

     Nevertheless, it was a treat for them -- for him. In a world of steel and machinery and order they were to surrender themselves upon soil and life and unpredictability. Linus knew that his blood may be spilt, and he'd decided that he rather it clump in the cold earth than run puddles atop man-made anything.

     One of the men that had been above deck now moved forward, handing the captain a stick of charcoal and piece of parchment. The captain nodded him away, taking a moment to stare down at the paper wordlessly. Linus knew what was to come next.

     "In case of your demise," the captain said, "you will sign to insure you are properly remembered."

     With no further information he handed one of the lined-up pirates the paper and charcoal. Linus swallowed past a clump that threatened to choke him as he waited. Finally, it was in his hand. He scanned it over as his fingers wrapped around the charcoal, the skin becoming black on contact. At the top of the paper was the captain's writing.

These are the men who refused to be placid. These are the men who refused to be dominated. These are the men that fought.

Without another glance he signed, passing the burden onto the next.